Chapter 6
SAVANNAH
Istep off the bus into the late afternoon heat, my overweight suitcase thudding onto the cracked pavement beside me.
The Pine Hollow bus station looks exactly the same as it did eight years ago.
Same peeling paint on the benches, same flickering fluorescent light buzzing overhead, same smell of diesel fumes mixed with the sweet scent of honeysuckle from the overgrown fence line.
I scan the small crowd for Xavier's familiar face, my stomach doing nervous flips. A few other passengers get swept up in happy reunions while I stand there like an idiot, checking my phone every thirty seconds.
Fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty. My phone battery drops to fifteen percent, and sweat starts beading on my forehead. The suitcase handle digs into my palm as I shift my weight from foot to foot, the wheels catching on every crack in the sidewalk when I try to move to shade.
By the thirty-minute mark, my jaw aches from clenching it so hard. I'm dragging my suitcase behind me toward the taxi stand, the thing trying to tip over with every bump. The familiar sting of abandonment sits heavy in my chest, mixing with rising anger that makes my hands shake.
"Taxi!" I call out, waving my free hand at the beat-up Honda cruising down Main Street.
The car pulls over, reeking of stale coffee and pine air freshener trying too hard to mask the scent of a dozen different passengers.
Danny Dean slides down the window, and I recognize him immediately.
Same messy brown hair, same easy smile he had in high school when he used to sit behind me in chemistry class.
"Savannah Hale?" He looks genuinely surprised as he gets out to help me wrestle my suitcase into the back. "Damn, I haven't seen you since graduation."
"Danny." I slide into the passenger seat, my irritation spiking as the reality hits me again. The car smells like him too now that I'm closer. Beta scent, warm and uncomplicated. Nothing like the tangled mess of alpha pheromones I remember from the pack.
"Xavier was supposed to pick me up," I snap, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Thirty minutes I waited there like some kind of idiot."
Danny actually laughs as he pulls away from the station. "Oh, he probably got into it with Logan and Griff again. Those three can't go five minutes without butting heads."
"But they're a pack."
"Are they though?" Danny's grin widens. "There's a running bet in town about how long they'll last. Old man Fletcher said it'd be a week tops, but hell, it's been a year now and none of them have actually killed each other yet.
" He shakes his head. "I give 'em another month before they crack for sure. "
"Emma's place on Birch Street," I mutter, slumping back in the seat.
Twenty minutes later, Danny pulls up to a familiar blue house with white shutters and a garden that looks like Emma threw wildflower seeds at it and hoped for the best. Before I can even get my bag out, the front door flies open.
"SAVANNAH!" Emma's voice could probably be heard three blocks away as she comes barreling down the front steps in pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, her dark hair swaying with every step.
Suddenly we're jumping up and down like teenagers again, her arms around me so tight I can barely breathe. My suitcase tips over in all the excitement, the zipper giving way and spilling half my clothes across Emma's front lawn.
"Oh my God!" Emma shrieks, but she's laughing as we both dive to collect my scattered underwear and sweaters. "You're actually here!"
Her scent wraps around me, familiar and comforting. Vanilla and lavender and home. And despite everything, despite Xavier standing me up and my clothes now decorating the neighborhood, despite the pack apparently falling apart and my life being a complete mess, I remember exactly why I came back.
To plan my best friend’s wedding.
The next day, the coffee maker gurgles to life in Emma's kitchen like a caffeinated resurrection. I lean against the granite countertop, still wearing yesterday's clothes because my suitcase remains unpacked in Emma's guest room.
Emma's footsteps pad down the hallway, soft and careful like she's trying not to wake sleeping dragons.
Her jasmine scent carries the lingering warmth of sleep and something that might be concern or might be guilt.
She appears in the kitchen doorway wearing flannel pajamas covered in tiny wedding cakes, her sleek black bob sticking up at impossible angles that defy physics and hair products.
"You're up early," she says.
"Couldn't sleep," I reply, pouring coffee into two mugs, adding cream and sugar to hers because some things never change, unlike my ability to make good life choices. "Figured I'd make myself useful before I have a complete breakdown."
"Useful would be sleeping until a reasonable hour so you're not exhausted for wedding planning," Emma says.
"Reasonable is overrated. Besides, someone needs to start breakfast, and it might as well be the woman whose life is falling apart in real time."
Emma accepts the coffee mug, then she settles onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic like it's a lifeline to sanity.
"About yesterday," she begins with the careful tone of someone about to poke a sleeping bear.
"Griff's impressive display of reliability? Already filed under 'things that never change' and moved on with my life," I say.
"He didn't abandon you on purpose," Emma says.
"Didn't he? Because leaving someone at a bus station, and not bothering to tell you or even Dax to get a replacement sounds like the Griff I remember.
" The Griff who used to cancel dates for emergency construction calls, who always had just one more thing to finish before he could focus on me, who made me feel like I was competing with his work for his attention and losing spectacularly.
Emma winces, jasmine scent sharpening with something that might be guilt or might be the realization that she's orchestrated this reunion from hell. "He's gotten better about prioritizing."
"Has he? Because his foundation inspection seemed pretty important compared to basic human courtesy yesterday," I say.
"That project is his biggest contract this year. If he'd failed the inspection..." Emma trails off.
"Emma." I set my coffee mug down harder than necessary, ceramic clinking against granite with the sharp sound of my patience running thin. "You don't have to defend him. I'm not some fragile omega who can't handle disappointment."
"I know you're not fragile. But I also know how you look when someone lets you down," Emma says.
"I'm fine," I lie.
"Are you? Because you've been staring at that coffee mug like it holds the secrets of the universe or possibly your will to live," Emma says.
"Maybe the secret is that some people never change, no matter how much time passes." No matter how much you hope they might become capable of basic reliability.
Emma's jasmine scent shifts, carrying notes of something deeper and more complicated than morning coffee anxiety. She takes a long sip of coffee, gathering her thoughts with the careful precision she uses when she's about to say something I absolutely won't want to hear.
"Sav, I need to tell you something," Emma says.
"If it's about wedding details, I'm not awake enough for logistics yet. If it's about why my ex-boyfriends are apparently involved in every aspect of your wedding, I'm definitely not awake enough for that conversation," I say.
"It's about them. The pack," Emma says.
I have a feeling that she's about to tell me what Danny told me in the taxi, but it's really none of my business.
"What about them?" I ask.
Emma stares into her coffee mug like it might provide guidance for whatever confession she's building toward. "They're a disaster."
I blink at my best friend like she's started speaking ancient Greek. "Excuse me?"
"The pack. They're terrible at it. I don't even know if they'll survive until the wedding without murdering each other," Emma says.
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, sharp and disbelieving and slightly hysterical. "They've been living together for a year. How bad can it possibly be?"
"Bad," Emma says, her voice carrying no trace of humor whatsoever, as if she's dead serious.
"Like, really, really bad. They argue constantly.
About everything. Logan thinks Griff is messy and irresponsible.
Griff thinks Logan is controlling and inflexible.
Xavier tries to mediate but ends up frustrated with both of them. "
"That sounds like normal roommate stuff," I say. The kind of domestic disputes that happen when people share space without clear boundaries.
"Normal roommates don't share alpha bonds. Normal roommates can move out when things get uncomfortable," Emma says.
I push away from the counter and start pacing the length of Emma's kitchen, my bare feet slapping against the cold tile. Something about her tone is setting off every alarm bell I have.
"Emma. Why exactly did you ask me to come here?”
Her jasmine scent spikes with guilt so sharp it makes my nose wrinkle. "Because you're my best friend and I wanted you here."
"And?" I stop pacing and cross my arms, fixing her with my best intimidating stare.
“You’re a wedding planner!” She takes a shaky breath, staring down at her coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe. "And because they need an omega."
I blink at her. "They need what now?"
"An omega. To help balance things out. Dax thinks that's why they're so unstable." The words tumble out of her mouth in a rush. "Three alphas living together without omega influence is apparently a recipe for disaster, and since you used to date all of them…”
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." I spin around, fury rising in my chest like hot mercury. "You brought me back here to babysit my three ex-boyfriends?"
"Not babysit. Help stabilize…”
"Let me get this straight." I lean against the counter, voice dripping with false sweetness. “They all left or dumped me, and now you want me to move in with them, because they can't figure out whose turn it is to buy milk?"
Emma's face crumples. "It's not like that..”
"Isn't it though?" I push off the counter and head for the kitchen doorway. "Well congratulations, Emma. You've officially won the award for worst maid of honor duty ever assigned."
"Savannah, wait…”
"Nope. I'm going to shower. When I come back down, we're planning your wedding like civilized people. No more alpha pack therapy sessions."
I stalk out before she can guilt me into staying, leaving her alone with her coffee and her spectacularly terrible matchmaking schemes.
Thank you, universe, for bringing me back to my hometown after eight years and immediately dumping me into the middle of a pack dysfunction intervention. Because apparently my life wasn't complicated enough already.